


A Good Morning

by elldotsee



Series: Care And Companionship [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Doesn't stop them at all, Don't copy to another site, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Morning Sex, Or as its been nicknamed in our shared folder, Permanent Injury, hygge with a buttplug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:55:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21561484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elldotsee/pseuds/elldotsee
Summary: John grows rather impatient waiting for his sleeping beauty to wake up on a particularly lazy Sunday, but the result is plenty enjoyable for them both.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Care And Companionship [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1486526
Comments: 32
Kudos: 235





	A Good Morning

**Author's Note:**

> You've all been so wonderful and have endured so much angst and heartache with our favourite duo, so here's some sweet and hot morning sex for ya. 
> 
> This is exactly as it says on the tin: hygge with a buttplug. 
> 
> *shrug*

_Warm._

The thought — more of a feeling really, trickling into the deeper layers of his unconsciousness — gently roused him.

_Familiar warmth._

_Content, comfortable._

A scent he knew intimately — musky and clean and arousing in its familiarity— filled his nostrils. The practised touches that began to register in more detail — firm strokes, nimble fingers, the perfect amount of warmth and weight — grounded him. 

Sherlock shifted, leaning his head into the palm which had just come to rest on his cheek. Though his eyes remained closed, soaking in the softness of this wordless early morning greeting just a few moments more, his mouth tipped into a smile.

“’m awake,” he finally muttered, the syllables a sleepy jumble.

John’s chuckle — also so very soft and warm and comforting, just like every wonderful, perfect bit of him— was quiet, floating across the cool silk of the pillowcase. Sherlock thought he’d never get tired of that sound as long as he lived.

“I know. Your purring gave you away.”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open indignantly and he pulled his head away from John’s caressing hand. “ _John!”_

The huskiness of his morning voice meant that it came out sounding much less petulant than it would have normally. “I do not _purr._ ”

John closed the distance between them, his fingers stroking down Sherlock’s cheek, neck, chest. They wandered over to a bare nipple and tweaked.

Sherlock yelped.

John grinned. “Been waiting _ages_ for you to wake up. Nearly drove me mad, Sleeping Beauty.”

Sherlock wanted to protest that too — _all these ridiculous nicknames!_ — but John had now pushed himself up onto hands and knees and was crawling forward, his tongue flicking out to soften the sting of the pinched nipple, and Sherlock’s protests dissolved into a mortifying whimper. His head flopped back against the pillow as he closed his eyes, and his hands came to rest on John’s upper back. He stroked the skin there, just as he had done so many times. He knew every inch of it and could imagine it with perfect clarity, even when John wasn't with him. Every freckle and mole and even the raised, red, scarred skin was all beloved. Every curve and plane of muscle that was there for him to caress made his mouth water, every notch of John's vertebrae was beautiful and perfect and whole.

John shifted and his lips pressed into Sherlock’s neck, the graze of teeth raising gooseflesh everywhere.

Sherlock’s hands travelled lower, over the curve of John’s arse, his thumbs brushing lightly down the centre. John’s tongue encouraged him by pressing into that _spot,_ the one behind his ear, and John's teeth tugged at his earlobe which made Sherlock’s shoulders jolt up. He could feel John’s smug grin against his skin.

Sherlock reached and pressed with his palms, kneading the warm skin of John’s arse, feeling the muscles beneath bunching and flexing. John’s breath puffed against his cheek, hitching and straining and deepening into a groan as Sherlock’s fingers worked their way in, inching closer together until—

“John?” His voice was still morning-rough, made even deeper with the quickly-growing arousal. He felt John shudder as he explored the edge of the smooth glass object he’d found, nestled between John’s cheeks. He gave it an experimental tug and John groaned again, deep from his chest and nearly lost the support of one hand on the mattress next to Sherlock's shoulder.

“ _Christ_ , Sherlock. I’m not going to last long if you keep doing that.”

“John, you-- you–– _prepared_?” Was it the right word, or was he jumping to conclusions?

“Yeah. Thought I’d… _we'd_ try something — _ahhhhh—_ new. I wanted to sur — _ffffuck, Sherlock —_ surprise you.”

Sherlock grasped the plug with two fingers and pulled, slowly and gently but firmly, his own moan mixing with John’s as it slid out. It was warm, since the molten heat of John’s very core had heated through it as he had accepted it in his body. Sherlock lifted it up, over John’s head, intending to inspect it. _The material looks like boron silicate instead of the silicon dioxide of window glass–– oh!_

His train of thought broke as John slid down his body, his breath coming faster. Sherlock could feel it gently blow against his bare chest as John shifted on top of him. He continued his southerly movement, getting into position, and Sherlock let his attention briefly divert back to the smooth glass plug he held cupped in his palm. It was a simple design, but Sherlock was certain he had never seen it in their flat before and wondered when John had purchased it. The thought filled him with equal parts hesitation, disbelief and rapt fascination. It proved that John thought about having sex, having it with _him,_ even when they weren’t in the bedroom. And John must have clearly put some thought into this: he had selected the item and paid for it, probably online, and then waited for it to arrive so he could hide it somewhere until he was ready to use it. Sherlock was impressed and more than a little _flattered_ that John had gone to such trouble.

His attention was once again drawn back to what John was doing, and he tossed the plug to the side where it rolled off the bed to the ground. Before surrendering to focusing on what John was doing, Sherlock spared a hopeful thought that the plug's next appearance wouldn't be as Arthur's newest chew toy. John probably wouldn't appreciate that happening just as Lestrade came over, but Murphy's law often seemed to dictate such events. _It would be at least a little bit funny._

"What are you grinning so deviously about?" John had gathered his left leg up to be held between his arm and his side and gave the side of Sherlock's thigh a gentle slap.

Once again, Sherlock couldn't really feel it, but appreciated the sentiment. He liked that John didn't try to discern between what he could feel and what he couldn't; he treated Sherlock the same in this regard as he would any partner, enjoying and making love to all of him. Enough accommodations had to be made in their everyday lives because of Sherlock's tetraplegia to drive him barmy; he preferred to be as unaware of his… long-term issues as he could when having sex.

"Just a stray thought," Sherlock mused. "Do carry on."

Though he couldn’t feel John’s mouth close around his cock, he could feel a warm pleasure coursing through his body, relaxing and arousing at once as it slowly intensified. John had learned how to do this efficiently some time ago; not lingering or drawing it out but sucking hard and fast in order to coax forth an erection. Thorough exploration of what worked and the spinal nerve stimulator which had brought back some nerve function had enabled them to forgo Sherlock taking Viagra every time they wanted to be together like this. Sherlock leaned back against the pillows, reaching overhead to arrange them so he was at a better angle to watch John’s head bobbing. He loved watching his husband do this to him, now. At first, it had felt weird and awkward, as though he was being merely an observer to his own newly minted sex life and particularly this — one of the most intimate of sexual acts. But John had explained, during a quiet, wobbly moment of Sherlock’s when he’d questioned why John would even bother when Sherlock couldn’t feel anything, that he loved doing it. That he loved Sherlock, adored every bit of him, loved the feeling of his penis in his mouth, that he felt so proud and happy knowing that it was him causing it to fill and harden. With that knowledge, and the evidence of John’s own arousal incontrovertible each time, Sherlock had learned to stop worrying and just enjoy himself.

He wondered what else John had in mind for this early morning shag — _clearly, Captain Watson has a plan_ — but he barely had time to indulge in any fantasies before John’s mouth slid off with a quiet pop, wiping saliva off of his chin with the back of his hand as he crawled back up the bed on his hands and knees. His eyes were soft, but they had a predatory gleam that _thrilled_ Sherlock.

He swallowed, letting his eyes drift down towards where their cocks were lined up close now, hard and flushed crimson, glistening with drops and _ready._

“John,” he began, but the rest of his words were forgotten as John kissed him, softly at first but with gradually quickening intensity. John tilted his head to slot their mouths together perfectly, the cool morning air punctuated only by the sound of the quick breaths through their noses and the slick slide of tongues. John slid his fingers into his hair, gradually clawing his fingertips across the scalp and it was nearly too much, so intense that Sherlock felt like squirming away, but John held him firm and kept him on just the right side of _too much_. Sherlock didn't have to look down between them to know he was achingly hard; the distant, tingling pressure was building somewhere deep.

One of them made a sound in their throat and John pulled away, breathing hard. His eyes locked on Sherlock’s as he lifted up onto his knees, scooting slightly backwards, the question already forming on his lips regarding consent for what he was about to do. "Is this—"

But Sherlock beat him to it, breathlessly. “John, yes. Yes, it’s okay. More than alright. I didn’t know how much I wanted to watch you do... this until now. But I do,” He finished lamely, suddenly feeling rather shy. "I was curious, but could hardly have brought myself to ask for it—" If he'd taken the initiative, he would have worried terribly about the tenacity of his erection. Now, John had taken the lead and thus much of the responsibility for how things worked out.

John licked his bottom lip and nodded, reaching for the bedside table where he procured their well-used bottle of lube. He snapped open the cap and dribbled some on his fingers. Then, he generously coated Sherlock’s cock with it, keeping his eyes fixed on his partner's. Where there had been a simple gleam before, his gaze now positively _smouldered._

 _Captain John Watson at his most enticing_ , Sherlock thought, and he loved him like this: equal parts calm and determined, protective and loving. He watched as John lined himself up, wiping his fingers on their duvet with a flash of an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, Hudders,” Sherlock murmured, as John repositioned himself, thighs straining slightly as he slowed his descend. Then, he slid down, down, down, and Sherlock lost all other thoughts, watching in rapt fascination as he disappeared inside of his husband. _Inside John’s body!_ His eyes widened as the realisation sunk in. He'd thought about this, even wondered if John might ever be persuaded to try it the other way around, quickly schooling himself to employ a reality check. They'd talked about it, and decided to hold off for now, mostly because John would have been so worried about hurting him without either of them noticing that it would have deflated the atmosphere.

John shifted until his bottom was flush against Sherlock’s hips and then stilled, eyes closed, and forehead creased in nearly overwhelmed-looking concentration. He was panting, and as he began to move, his cock bobbed in front of him. Sherlock reached for it, giving it a light stroke. John let out a sound that was half sob, half moan and closed his hand over Sherlock’s to halt his caresses.

“Won’t last long at all that way. And I want this... _oh God, Sherlock..._ to be good for you too.” John entwined their fingers and lifted their hands to his mouth, kissing each of Sherlock’s fingers in turn before sliding one into his mouth.

Sherlock sucked in a breath. John’s mouth and tongue felt wonderful — the wet heat enveloped him and sent his thoughts spiralling. What had before been an all over relaxed sort of warmth, sharpened, became more urgent. He could feel his climax building and he let out a moan as John sucked harder, his tongue swirling patterns around his sensitive fingertip. Somehow, everything John had done before, together with the sight of him right now had primed Sherlock for climax even when John wasn't touching his hair. Sherlock closed his eyes and felt John lean forward to press his hand against the wall behind Sherlock’s head as he started to move in earnest. His mouth and hips found a rhythm together and soon, both of them were panting and grunting.

Sherlock succumbed first; the overwhelming wave which short-circuited his thoughts washed over and around and through him, leaving him feeling sated and relaxed and pleasant and spent, though he knew there would be no visible release. _That is for the best_ , he thought; _less of a mess for John to deal with_.

John continued to rock slowly until Sherlock regained his senses and lifted one hand to wrap around John’s cock. After only a few strokes, John came with a shout. When he’d regained his breath, he carefully rose and rolled off of Sherlock, planting a kiss on his forehead as he walked past and into the loo to grab a flannel. He crawled back into bed and cleaned them both off before nestling in tight under Sherlock’s chin, one leg resting comfortably between Sherlock’s longer ones. Sherlock threw an arm over his torso, gave him a squeeze and leaned in to kiss his forehead.

After a few minutes of quiet, he inhaled, intending to ask John if he enjoyed that, if it might be a thing that they would try again.

John chuckled before he’d even uttered a single word. “Come on, _detective_. Use that big brain of yours and deduce. Did I look like I enjoyed it? Did you somehow miss the bit where I came all over your chest?” John bumped against him with his shoulder and propped himself up on one elbow to kiss him slowly and meticulously. “Sure seemed like you enjoyed the show as well, yeah?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but his smile was fond, amused. “I could easily be talked into an encore if you get me a pill after breakfast; we already must have pushed our luck with my endurance without one." He stretched his arms above his head, luxuriating in the stretch to his upper back. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't like it; I do believe there are worse ways to be woken on a Sunday morning.”

John kissed him again and lay back down on his chest. They dozed until the sun peeked in through the window, bathing the entire room in golden light. Sherlock felt warm, and happy — more than he could ever remember in his entire life.

— The End —


End file.
